


Want You In My Room

by theworldunseen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But mostly fluff with bonus smut, Eventual Phone Sex, F/M, Fluff, Skype
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:28:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23240974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theworldunseen/pseuds/theworldunseen
Summary: Brienne Tarth is doing her part to socially distance, which means working from home in her tiny apartment. It's...boring. Then her sort of friend Jaime Lannister starts texting her, and things will never be the same.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 83
Kudos: 339





	Want You In My Room

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flythroughflames](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flythroughflames/gifts).



> hey! so this is quarantine-inspired, but it makes no actual reference to any current disease of virus. also no one in the story or mentioned in the story gets sick, and there are no details about the illness at all. mostly this is a story about two bored people falling in love over FaceTime. there is very little plot, and there's eventually phone sex. almost everything referenced in this is something i have done during social distancing, or something I have plans to do. let me know if you want any of the recipes lol.
> 
> this fic would not exist without flythroughflames. i messaged her and said, "i have this idea, do i have to write it" and she said yes.
> 
> also obviously there's no twincest, this is just that soft soft shit.
> 
> title is from the carly rae jepsen song of the same name! thank u for reading!!!

Brienne steps out of the shower, wrapping her body in a large towel and her hair in a tiny one. All the advice about working from home said that keeping a routine, especially showering every day and getting dressed, was important. And she is nothing if not diligent about following advice. She woke up at 7:30, did thirty minutes of yoga, took a shower, and now she’d get dressed and eat breakfast before starting work at 9 on the dot. 

She pulls on jeans and a comfy sweater, slips on her house shoes and puts her phone in her pocket. She’ll call her dad while she eats her oatmeal, make sure he still has supplies and isn’t wandering the neighborhood, unthinking about the disease and the risks it poses. While she cooks her oatmeal — using the stove top was a luxury of working from home — she plans the conversation in her mind. Ways to figure out if he’s really staying at home or if he’s been visiting his friends. 

When she gets him on the phone, it sounds like he’s staying put. He figured out how to FaceTime Uncle Goodwin, which is good. He tells her all about the lentil soup he made the night before, and how he froze some so the leftovers will last. She wonders if she has lentils in her pantry.

After a few minutes, they’ve run through all conversation topics and let each other go. She still has fifteen minutes until she has to work. She cleans her bowl from the oatmeal and the mug from her tea. She cleans the dishes she dirtied cooking it, the spoon she used to cook it. She makes another cup of tea before sitting down at her desk and getting to work.

At 10:30, she takes a break, like she does when she’s at work. She walks to the kitchen for a glass of water and checks her texts.

Margaery: Have you ever watched Good Morning Westeros? The lead anchor is very cute.

Sansa: Which of my brothers do you think I will try to kill first today? I’m guessing Robb

Sansa: It was Rickon.

Renly: Thinking of starting a quarantine #ootd Instagram, would you follow?

Renly: please follow @renlyl00ksgood on Instagram

Dad: did you know you can watch old baseball games on youtube? 

She writes quick replies — she’s never watched GMW, she’s sorry the Starks are driving Sansa mad, she follows @renlyl00ksgood, she asks her dad who told him about youtube.

As she puts her phone down, she gets one more text:

Jaime Lannister: I’m so bored. 

She squints at her phone. Jaime Lannister must truly be at his limits if he texted  _ her,  _ the woman he’d once called “even more boring to talk to than she is to look at.” She wishes she could forget he said that. It was before she got to know him better and found out he wasn’t completely terrible. But it had stung, leaving a mark on her brain she couldn’t erase.

She ignores the text and gets back to work. When she takes her lunch break at 12 on the dot, there are more.

Jaime Lannister: Aren’t you bored?

Jaime Lannister: Staying inside is SO HARD.

Jaime Lannister: Where are you?

She ignores messages from her dad and her actual friends to type back, “What do you want?”

His three little dots appear right away. 

Jaime Lannister: There she is.

Jaime Lannister: Don’t tell me you’ve been working all morning.

She takes her leftover soup out of the fridge and sets it up on the stove before typing back, “Of course I have, it’s my job.” 

Jaime Lannister: Of course you would.

She doesn’t want to be offended by that, but she is. Without thinking she writes back, “What’s your job anyway? Or does your dad just direct deposit you money twice a month?”

She regrets it right away. She checks all her other messages — Margaery is DMing with the hot anchor, Sansa is  _ going for a run _ to get away from Arya, Renly is deleting the ootd account — before looking at his response.

Jaime Lannister: There’s that Tarth wit I was missing in quarantine. 

Jaime Lannister: He used to. Basically. But I quit a couple months ago. Now I’m a bartender.

Jaime Lannister: Well I got laid off when the governor shut down the bars. But probably they’ll hire me back.

Now she feels bad. “That sucks. I’m sorry.” Three dots. Shrug emoji.

Jaime Lannister: Truthfully my mom left me with this ridiculous trust fund so I’m fine. Trying to make sure my coworkers have their rent covered and stuff.

That was nice, actually. She stirred the soup.

Jaime Lannister: Sorry that wasn’t to be like “oh i’m so nice and good.” Just meant that I’m not the sort of guy anyone should be worried about right now.

“I didn’t think you were trying to show off, don’t worry.”

She pours the soup into a bowl and sits down to eat it. “Are you quarantined with Tyrion?” That’s how she’d met Jaime, when Sansa and Tyrion had briefly dated. They were still friends, and Brienne had been introduced to Jaime when Tyrion had them all over for a party at the townhouse he shared with his brother a couple years ago. They’d been thrown together a few times over the months since. Why they had each other’s numbers, she couldn’t really remember.

Jaime Lannister: No, we don’t live together anymore. I’m all by myself.

That explains it, then. Jaime Lannister was so lonely and bored he’d caved and texted Brienne Tarth. She puts on a podcast and finishes her soup. At the end of the hour, she goes back to work. She takes a last break at 3. She has 50 new texts, 40 of them from Jaime Lannister. He asked if she was alone. When she hadn’t responded, he’d asked if she was OK, if she’d left the house.

Jaime Lannister: Don’t tell me you’re the type of person who can work without texting your friends every five seconds.

The next thirty texts are about things he was watching on Netflix, a book he wants to read but hasn’t begun, and things he might make for dinner. She ignores most of it, writing, “Of course I don’t text while I work. I’m working.”

Jaime Lannister: That’s absurd.

Jaime Lannister: On a normal day your boss is probably texting everyone they know. During a global pandemic? No one’s working! Just you.

She puts her phone down and does some stretches, then walks to the kitchen to get water and some pretzels. Back at her desk, she finds Jaime’s text: “What’s your job anyway?”

“I’m a podcast editor,” she writes back. “That’s why I have to focus. Otherwise I fuck it up.”

She puts her phone down again and gets back to work. By 4:30, she’s satisfied with the episode. She keeps her email open, in case anything comes in, but decides she can mess around on her phone until 5.

Margaery has learned the GMW anchor is married. Sansa is stress baking. Renly and Loras are doing a puzzle. 

Jaime has a million questions about podcast editing. She finds herself answering them as she does more yoga — she wants to go running, but she’s worried she could get her neighbors sick — and then she and Jaime are talking about what workouts they’re doing so they don’t lose their minds completely. Jaime admits he found these cardio dancing videos on YouTube, and he spent the morning dancing to Beyoncé.

Jaime: It’s a good workout! A lot of core!

Brienne’s laughs at the image. 

Jaime: Don’t laugh at me! It's a desperate time. 

For dinner she makes rice and beans, which Jaime says is too pathetic for the first week of quarantine. 

Jaime: Save that for week three.

Week three, god she doesn’t want to think that far ahead.

Jaime: Good thing we can keep each other company.

And she supposes that is what they did all day. She did feel less lonely than she had the day before, thanks to Jaime. But she figures he must be going through his phone contacts, and B is close to the top, Tomorrow he’ll move on to the Cs and forget all about her.

She’s wrong.

Jaime: Good morning, Tarth. I assume you’re already worked out and showered and ready to face the day.

“I’m about to start working,” she writes back. It’s 9:05 and she’s opening her email.

Jaime: Make sure you take frequent breaks. Frequent. Frequent!

She puts her phone on her bed so she’s not tempted to check it and gets to work. And if she takes her break a little earlier, at 10:15, there’s no one there to judge her.

She makes another cup of tea before checking her phone. Sansa has started knitting mittens. Margaery sent a video from her stationary bike. Renly is experimenting with makeup. Her dad has moved on to old hockey games on YouTube.

Jaime has discovered the Bon Appetit Test Kitchen and is trying to convince Brienne to watch the videos.

“I already watch!” she types back. “Watch Gourmet Makes Kit Kats, that’s my favorite.”

Jaime: Will do, boss. 

Jaime: Maybe I’ll try to bake bread.

“Have you ever made bread before?” she asks, picturing Jaime in his kitchen, covered in flour.

Jaime: No, but I bought a huge thing of yeast at Costco. If not now, when.

“Report back,” she writes, then puts her phone back on her bed and gets back to work.

It’s not her fault she keeps getting distracted. They’ve paused production on some of the podcasts, so there’s less stuff to edit. She’s waiting for new audio for a while, and there are only so many times you can reorganize your inbox before you get bored. She puts on music. It helps a little.

She caves. She grabs her phone.

Jaime: I have decided on focaccia. The recipe said it’s super easy. 

Jaime: Does this look foamy?

It was a photo of a bowl of brown water with little bubbles.

Jaime: I think it’s good.

Another photo of dough in a bowl.

Jaime: Look! Bread!

Jaime: This has to rise 24 hours!? I don’t get bread until TOMORROW?!

Jaime: It will be worth it though.

Then he’d texted all his thoughts about the Kits Kats video. 

And that’s it. Brienne texts him throughout the day, even when her lunch break ends and she gets back to work.

And then they just...keep doing it. In the morning, she wakes up to the texts Jaime sent after she fell asleep. She responds to them, and by the time she’s done with yoga and showering, he'll have responded, and then they shoot messages back and forth all day. She only stops for editing or if she’s on the phone with her dad or Sansa or whoever. Then she goes to sleep and starts it all over again.

Jaime’s focaccia turns out really well, but he ends up freezing most of it, since it was  _ a lot _ of bread for one person. Then he starts to branch out: biscuits, challah bread, chocolate swirl brownies. By day four, Brienne starts baking too, though the recipes she tries are a little less audacious. He sends lots of selfies, too, though she never reciprocates.

Soon their conversations go deeper than just “I’m watching a Netflix show about Formula 1 racing even though I don’t know anything about racing.” Brienne finds herself telling Jaime about how worried she is about her dad, all alone on Tarth, and that she feels guilty she isn’t there with him. “But his wifi is terrible, I couldn’t have worked.”

Jaime: You’re doing the best you can. You have to know that. Don’t feel guilty.

Jaime tells Brienne about his recent breakup (“Well almost a year ago for the last time so not that recent but we were together off and on from college so it feels like a short time in comparison”), how at first he thought she’d cheated on him, but when he found out she was engaged to someone else, he realized  _ he _ was the other man.

He tells her about growing up with dyslexia and all the tricks he learned to work around it and she tells him about how she played baseball until high school, when the boys bullied her so badly she switched to softball, which she played through college.

On day eight, Brienne gets caught. She’s watching “Hello, Dolly!” on HBOgo with Sansa and Margaery, all of them in a Google Hangout so they can chat about their favorite parts. But of course Jaime still texts her. 

“Everybody pause,” Margaery says, and they all do.

“What’s the matter?” Sansa asks. “You just got up to pee.”

“Why does Brienne keep smiling at her phone? Who is she talking to?”

Oh crap.

Brienne looks down, hoping they won’t be able to tell she’s lying if they can’t really see her face. “No one,” she says.

“No one,” Margaery mimics. “Is it someone we know? Is it a crush? Are you  _ sexting?” _

“No!” Brienne shrieks, though that means she’s lying about two of those questions. And the third one...she isn’t opposed.

“Who is it?” Sansa asks, a little less aggressive than Margaery. Brienne finds a pillow and hides behind it. 

“Brienne’s got a secret quarantine buddy,” Margaery says, and that’s what does it. Jaime isn’t a secret. He deserves more than that. She looks them in the eye (the screen? Who knows anymore) and says, “It’s Jaime Lannister. We’re friends now, I guess.”

Margaery and Sansa squeal and press her for details. 

“He’s totally into you,” Margaery says, when Brienne finishes the main story.

“He’s just bored,” Brienne says, but it sounds wrong even to her own ears.

“Five minutes of texting is ‘I’m stuck inside and bored.’ Eight days? That’s something more,” Sansa says. “Do you like him?”

Brienne shakes her head. “We’re friends,” she says again. “Please don’t read into it, it’ll just freak me out.” They mostly let it drop after that, but Brienne is, quietly, freaking out.  _ Does _ Jaime like her? Is that why he texted her, not because he was bored, but because he’s interested? On the one hand, it feels impossible. Jaime is ridiculously handsome, like movie star handsome. Even when she didn’t like him at all she saw it. His ex had been just as beautiful. And it’s not that she thinks Jaime is shallow but...Brienne isn’t the type of person other people are interested in! Especially not incredibly good looking guys who are secretly sweet and considerate and kind, who spend hours baking bread and then figure out a way to give it to his neighbors while limiting social contact so he doesn’t unintentionally get them sick. 

Maybe it’s the movie and its romantic sentiments, but when she hangs up with her friends, she picks up her phone. Her finger hovers over Jaime’s contact. She opens it. Before she can stop herself, she clicks the FaceTime button.

Maybe he won’t answer. Maybe he won’t answer. Maybe he —

“Brienne, hey!”

And there’s Jaime, laying on what looked to be a couch. He has his glasses on and he pushes a hand through his hair. He looks tired.

“I’m sorry, is it late?” It’s almost midnight, she realizes too late.

“No, no, no,” he says, quickly, sitting up a little straighter. “It’s not too late. Hi. What’s up?”

She sits back on the couch and tries not to look at the little frame of her face, knowing she’ll criticize her chin and her nose and her hair. But that means looking at Jaime’s perfect face. Even the little bump in his nose only makes him more handsome, keeping him from looking completely surreal.

“Nothing, I just got off the phone with my friends, and I figured this was easier than texting.” She hopes it’s not awkward. Then Jaime smiles, and oh she’s glad she thought to do this. It’s so much better than texting. 

“It is,” he says. “And it’s nice to see you.” She smiles at him, too. “What did you talk about with Sansa and Margaery?”

So they talk a little bit about “Hello, Dolly!” which Jaime has never seen. Brienne’s mom had loved musicals, so her dad had shown her every one he could get her hands on.

“What I love about Dolly is that she’s at this point in her life where everyone counts her out. She’s a widow, she’s supposed to go be sad and miserable and poor until she dies. But she says no, and she takes every skill she has to build a new life for herself, and to help people, too.”

“We could watch it together,” Jaime suggests. “Not tonight. Or if you don’t want to watch it again I —”

“No, I always want to watch it,” she interrupts. She wants to say she’d watch anything with Jaime, but it’s too much. But it’s true, she would. She’d been ignoring her crush on Jaime, she realizes now, but once Margaery and Sansa had asked, the truth of it was in front of her face. 

When they watch “Hello, Dolly!” two nights later, video chatting the whole time, Jaime cries during “It Only Takes A Moment.” He looks like he’s waiting for her to laugh at him, but she doesn’t, because this part used to always make her cry, too. Because she thought she’d never know what the song was talking about, but now she thinks she just might.

She FaceTimes Jaime during breakfast and he makes fun of her boring oatmeal and she makes fun of him for eating peanut butter and jelly with a spoon.

“The bread is the worst part!” he says, and he’s right but she won’t admit it. Then they text while she works, and she FaceTimes him during her breaks. Sometimes he’s baking and sometimes he’s watching TV and sometimes he’s inventing new workouts. When she’s done, she FaceTimes him again, and they basically don’t hang up all night, unless Sansa or Margaery or her dad want her. It’s still lonely, being alone, but she’s less alone because she can be alone with Jaime.

“Does that make sense?” she asks when she tries to explain it to him late at night, maybe three weeks into the whole thing. 

“Yes,” he says. “100 percent.” He sighs dramatically, which she’s used to by now, but there’s something different about this one. “If we were in the same place right now,” he starts, like he’s afraid to keep going. His voice is low and rough. “We’d be sitting close and the lights would be dim, and I’d reach out and put a piece of hair behind your ear.” She can practically feel it.

“Jaime…”

“And I’d say, ‘I’ve wanted to kiss you this whole time. Can I do it now?’” He looks down. “And you’d either kiss me or kick me out.”

“Jaime,” she says again, and he looks up. “I wouldn’t kick you out.” And his face breaks into this beautiful smile and before she can stop herself she takes a screenshot so she can never forget it.

“When you texted me the first time, I figured you were just bored,” she says, maybe an hour later. They’re both in bed, in their separate beds, but still together. “I didn’t think you’d text me again the next day.” Jaime pouts.

“God Brienne, I’ve had a crush on you since...not the first time we met, but not that long after.” She laughs.

“Really?”

“Really!” 

“You said the only thing more boring than my face was talking to me.”

He frowns. “And I regretted it immediately.” She believes him even though it’s hard. “So for months and weeks I was thinking about excuses to text you, but I never had any good ones, and then I thought, ‘Fuck it, we’re all trapped inside, maybe she’ll want to talk to me.’ And then it worked.”

“It worked,” she agrees. “Though I wish we could’ve done this before we were banned from seeing each other.”

“You wouldn’t have talked to me,” Jaime says. She wants to argue, but he’s probably right.

In the morning she realizes she fell asleep with the phone still on and that Jaime was the one who had to hang up first. 

Then nothing really changes. Jaime is flirty — but she realizes he’d been flirty this whole time, and she just hadn’t noticed until he came out and said that he liked her. Sometimes he tells her she looks cute and one time he says something about her eyes that makes her feel warm all over, but for the most part nothing changes.

One night they’re up late, and Brienne is moments away from surrendering to sleep when she says, “I wish I could kiss you good night.” It’s the first time she’s said something like that, since they admitted their mutual attraction, and Jaime looks so happy she doesn’t need to take a screenshot to remember it. 

They start to pepper it into their conversations: “I’d kiss you right now if I could.” “I’d rather be snuggling you right now.” “I wish I could hug you.” It’s awkward at first, but quickly it isn’t, because it’s true and it’s all they have and she believes him every time. A tiny part of her worries if this can really work when the quarantine is over, but the bigger part of her just wishes she could find out already. 

One night they’re in bed, listening to a playlist Jaime had made of his favorite Bruce Springsteen songs (it had taken like 15 minutes to get them to start at exactly the same moment, but they did it). “I’m On Fire” plays in the background and they both have their eyes closed and Brienne feels soft and brave and beloved. 

“If I were in bed with you, I’d kiss you,” she says, looking into her phone’s camera. Jaime opens his eyes and looks at her, a goofy smile on his face. 

“I’d like that,” he says. 

“First I’d kiss your lips, and then I’d kiss your nose. Your chin. I’d want to feel all your stubble.” She can barely look at him, but she does, and there’s this lusty look in his eyes.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she echoes. “Then I’d kiss your jaw. Your neck. I’d run my hands through my hair and try to find all the places you’re ticklish.”

“I’m very ticklish. You’ll find out soon.”

Soon. Soon. It’s not soon enough.

“I’d try to get you out of your shirt —”

“You wouldn’t have to try hard.”

“I would, because you’d be kissing me and I’d have to push you away to get it over your head.” He laughs.

“Good point, Tarth. Then I’d have to take your shirt off too.”

“I’d let you,” she says. “Or I’d take it off myself.”

“I’d have my hands all over you. You’d be in my lap and I’d be pulling you closer and thinking about how lucky I am.” 

She feels a little braver. “I’d move around in your lap.”

“You’d drive me crazy,” he says, a little breathlessly.

“You’d like it.”

“I would. I’d be playing with the waistband of your sweatpants, trying to get them off of you. Maybe I’d have to flip you on to your back so I could get them off.”

“I’m not sure you’re strong enough,” she says, biting her lips. He laughs, a short bark.

“Probably not, but you’d want me inside of you so I think you’d let me.”

Her face is warm. “I would,” she admits. “I would.”

“In this fantasy, if this our first time or our fiftieth?” 

“Why does it matter?”

“Why does it matter?” he says, aghast. “If it’s our first time, I’m taking my time. I’m starting at your feet and I’m kissing my way up your legs.”

“Jaime…”

“Please tell me that means you’re touching yourself, because I’m a dirty pervert if you aren’t doing it, too.” She laughs and nods. “Good. If it’s our first time I’m kissing my way up your legs. And then I’m burying my face between them.”

“Jaime…”

“I’d throw your legs over my shoulders so I could get closer.”

“I’d put my hands in your hair, I’d — Jaime —” She’s so close, she’s so close.

“Good, good, you’re so good,” he says. “And just when I thought you were about to come, I’d add a finger or two.”

“Jaime — fuck.” She’d thought she might be embarrassed, Jaime watching her when she comes on FaceTime, of all places. But he looks so fucking pleased with himself, and so happy, she can’t bring herself to regret it. 

“You good?” he asks, all golden arrogance. 

Instead she says, “If it was our fiftieth time, I wouldn’t let you flip me over. I’d pull down your sweatpants as far as I needed and I’d tell you to lay back and not move. And you would.”

“I would,” Jaime agrees, and she knows without him saying that he’s touching himself still. 

“And I’d take off my underwear and I’d sink down on to your cock —”

“Brienne, Brienne —”

“And you’d try to touch me but I’d hold your arms down and tell you no.”

“Fuck, Brienne, ahhh —”

“And I’d just ride you and ride you —” she’s touching herself again — “and finally I’d nod and you’d sit up and you’d kiss me —”

“I would, baby, I would —”

“And you’d be so good, I’d be so full, I’d be begging for it —” Jaime moans, all rough and raw and she knows he’s gotten there, too. She follows again a moment later, and then they just lay there, together but separate, Bruce Springsteen still playing, catching their breath. Brienne feels shy again. 

“That was good,” Jaime says with a little laugh.

“That was,” she agrees, and they just smile at each other and listen to the rest of the playlist. 

A few days later, they get the news they’d been waiting for — the quarantine is over. In twenty-four hours, they can go outside. 

“Do you want to meet at my apartment or yours?” Jaime asks. She hesitates. “What’s the matter?” he asks in the very soft way Brienne is starting to get used to. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?”

“No,” Brienne says firmly, because she isn’t. “I’m just nervous. What if you...realize you don’t like me as much as you thought you did? What if we’ve built up this thing that can’t survive?”

He thinks about it — she feels like she can see him giving it consideration, which calms her.

“It will be different,” he admits. “And what if you realize you don’t like me as much as you think you do?”

“That’s ridiculous,” she says, and it  _ is. _ Not liking Jaime would be like disliking breathing.

“Then you know how i feel,” he says. Okay.

It turns out the midpoint between her apartment and his is this little park. They agree to meet at the benches in the southwest corner at noon the next day.

Brienne barely sleeps that night, she’s so excited. She’d FaceTime Margaery and Sansa for outfit advice, and they’d teased her. 

“I think you’re past first date outfits now,” Margaery had said. Sansa told her to wear blue. In the morning she puts on an old blue sundress she’d always liked, then grabs a denim jacket in case it’s a little chilly outside. 

When she finally leaves her apartment, it’s like the first day of spring, the first day of summer vacation and Christmas day and Halloween all rolled into one. Every person she passes is smiling. They say hi. They stop to pet each other’s dogs. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen so many ice cream cones. She calls her dad as she slowly makes her way to the park, and he’s getting ready for a beachside picnic. She takes her time, her whole life unrolling in front of her.

She still gets to the park at eleven. 

Jaime is already there. 

He smiles when he sees her, but doesn’t get up from his bench. She sits next to him.

“I wanted to get here first,” she says with a smile. He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I got here at 10,” he says, shrugging. “Can I kiss you now?”

Everything about it is better than she imagined. 

**Author's Note:**

> well! hope everyone enjoyed! just fyi i rejoined tumblr at the-world-unseen.tumblr.com. you can also follow me on twitter @faketoria.
> 
> hope everyone appreciated the sort of "heart full of gasoline" reference.


End file.
